In Sickness And In Health
by AWaywardHunter
Summary: Dean awakens in a motel room with no idea how he got there. The last thing he remembers is being in Purgatory. How did he get out? What's going on? Eventual Destiel. Set at the end of season 7. My first fic, please r&r.
1. Chapter 1 - As long as it takes

Dean woke up in a crappy hotel room, dazed and confused and very alone. He stared up at the ceiling, blinked a few times to try to put it in focus. Had it all been a bad dream? He wondered. The Leviathans, fighting Dick, being blown into Purgatory?

He groaned and tried to sit up but immediately lay back down again. Every muscle in his body had protested the movement; he felt as though he'd run a dozen marathons. Back to back. It was either that or….

Images blazed painfully through Dean's mind. Trees, dirt, a rough, unforgiving terrain. It was all grey, monochromatic, the life leeched out of it. It was purgatory. He had really been there.

More images came to him unbidden. He saw flashes of red. It was the only other colour that existed purgatory. And he only saw it when he made a kill. There were weapons, unearthly blades wielded by the monsters that hunted him and soon enough by Dean himself. Everyone and everything was out to kill him. If he didn't gank them first he was dead. Vampires, werewolves, shifters, they were all there.

But most of the memories were just of running. He barely slept, barely ate, he could not afford the time nor the vulnerability of it. He was constantly running, always in motion, trying to find safety where none existed.

Dean shuddered and tried once more to sit up. Once more he failed. His exhaustion was purely too extreme. He wondered, as consciousness slipped away from him, just what the hell had happened. And where on Earth, if it indeed was Earth, he was.

When Dean awoke for the second time he was instantly aware of another presence. Easing his heavy eyelids open, he stole a glance around the room, trying to scope it out. Unfortunately for him, it was nearly pitch-black. Only the faintest trickle of light made it in through the blinds from outside.

Dean felt cold and shivery, almost feverish but was relieved to feel that he was all in one piece. He took advantage of the darkness to quietly check himself for weapons. He came up empty handed. Even the knife in his sock was gone. Then again, so was his sock. What was going on?

Suddenly, the light in the room switched on. Dean blinked furiously and braced his tired, aching body, preparing to fight any monster or demon that came at him. To his surprise, nothing came at him. Standing over his bed however, was Castiel, Dean's friend and an Angel of the Lord, with a grave look upon his face.

"Dean" the angel said seriously, "How are you feeling?"

Dean blinked some more and struggled into a sitting position. Castiel frowned but said nothing more, just waited, apparently anxious for Dean's reply. He did not need to wait for it long.

"How am I feeling?!" Dean exploded at Castiel, confusion taking on the pretense of anger, "I feel like crap, Cas! I've been running for months, and I feel like I haven't slept or eaten in years," he almost shouted at him, his voice gruff and croaky. He did not understand what was going on, how he was here… wherever _here_ was.

"Dean," the Angel said in his normal, serious tone, "please calm down. You are going to be Ok. However your body needs its rest. You should not be sitting up so soon." Dean took a couple of deep breaths and lay back down, mainly due to the throbbing in the head and the dizziness that was coming over him, not Cas' words.

Though he was lying down he by no means looked relaxed. His entire face was screwed up in a frown.

"You have questions," Castiel ascertained from the expression.

"Of course I bloody do! The last thing I remember I was in purgatory. In fact, I thought you got blasted there as well, but when I came to, I was alone in that stinking shithole." Dean stated, the accusation hanging heavy in the air.

Castiel sighed lightly. "It is true that I was 'blasted', as you say, into purgatory with you too, however I was there for only a short, indeterminable amount of time before appearing back in heaven. I believe God was responsible for rescuing me. I believe he is back, but there will be time to discuss that later. Here,' he offered a glass of water to Dean, 'Please hydrate yourself.'

Dean drank, questions buzzing around in his head. He tried to sort through his memories and figure out what he needed answers for first. His exhaustion, however, was still very strong. As he slipped from consciousness and his body relaxed, Castiel caught the glass he was holding before it fell.

The Angel stood over his friend as he drifted into a world of dreams. He then switched off the light and sat by Dean's bedside. When he was sure the hunter was asleep he lightly brushed a hand over his forehead, moving some hair that was tickling his eyelid. Dean's hair was as long as he'd ever seen it and his face was more weathered and lined since last they met. Castiel knew that it was his fault. So he would stay as long as he was needed. As long as it took, he vowed.


	2. Chapter 2 - An unexpected customer

From the little experience that Castiel had with humans, he knew that Dean would most likely be hungry the next time he woke up. And this posed a bit of a dilemma for him; he had never had to purchase food on his own before.

Cas had contemplated for a while on whether he should simply take Dean out to choose and buy his own food once he awoke, however he knew that the conversation that would accompany the meal would most likely not be appropriate for public. If he knew Dean at all, he knew that he would not be quiet about asking his questions and voicing his opinions.

And besides, it was a miserable, rainy night anyway.

So that is how Cas came to be standing at the counter of a grungy backstreet diner – which he'd chosen for it's closeness and not at all its claim of having the 'best apple pie in town' – ordering food.

"I would like to purchase a burger and some pie," Castiel announced, startling the young woman behind the counter. She had been hunched over, the stance of one weary and beaten down, but she straightened up, brushing her dirty blonde hair over her shoulder and attempting a smile. She hadn't heard him come in; the bell above the door hadn't chimed and she quickly looked the man before her over.

He looked weary as well. Although he was clean-shaven and alert, there were creases enough in his forehead to match those in the long tan trench-coat he wore. Beneath the coat an equally wrinkled suit with a wonky navy tie was visible.

Castiel waited patiently as the woman – Sophie, her nametag told him, not that he needed it to – gathered her thoughts, then smiled at him and replied with a short 'of course'. Sophie then proceeded to ask him a series of questions that he had been prepared for: What kind of burger? Whatever is recommended. What flavour pie? Apple. Have here or take away? Take away, thank you.

At the last minute, Cas decided to order a second burger; Dean was bound to be very hungry, but on the off-chance that he didn't want it, well, Cas was quite fond of burgers if his memory served.

Castiel stood waiting patiently as the food was prepared. He discovered a growing desire to tell the troubled waitress that what she was worrying about was not her fault. He wanted to assure her that she was not to blame for her brother's suicide – he had suffered depression for many years, it was no-one's fault – and that he was safe in heaven now. The last time he did something of the like, however, Dean had scolded him for it. He'd been told he couldn't just say things like that to people. Apparently it's 'creepy'. Not to mention the reaction he'd gotten from the woman.  
Castiel wondered why it was inappropriate for him to tell people things that should ease their minds and found himself surprised by the direction his thoughts were taking; he really, almost desperately, wantedto be able to _help_ people. He held the greatest admiration for Dean for the work that he did as a hunter. He helped and saved people almost on a daily basis, so why was Castiel not able to use his abilities to do the same?

Sophie listened to the thunder of the storm outside, unaware of the thoughts of the angel standing mere metres from her, as she wiped down the tables and cleaned up ready for closing. It was unlikely they would have any more customers so late on such a stormy, wet night.

Soon the waitress was collecting the food from the kitchen. She handed it to Castiel and then following him to the door with the intention of locking it behind him and flipping the sign over to 'Closed'. As they neared the door she took another look at the weather outside and cringed.

"I wouldn't go out there right now if I were you. It's pouring. You'll get sick or swept away," she told the angel.

"I will be fine," he reassured her in a blank, unconcerned monotone.

"Are you sure? Do you have a car or someone you can call to get you?" For some reason she didn't think he did. "I'd feel terrible if something happened. Would you like me to call you a taxi?" She offered with a worried frown; it really was storming outside.

"Thank you for your concern, but I will walk." Castiel refused firmly. "The consequences are all my own. I have had free will for some time and am quite accustomed to dealing with them by now." He gave her something resembling a smile and exited.

It was after Castiel had left and trekked off into darkness down the street and after Sophie had stopped wondering about the strange manner of speaking the man had that she started to ponder something else. How in all of Heaven and Earth had the man gotten inside the diner dry in the first place?

A few moments later Cas was back in Dean's room at the motel. Noticing that Dean's bed was now empty, he called out towards the bathroom, where he assumed Dean must be considering he could hear water running.

"Dean, I have returned with sustenance."

A minute of two passed before Dean emerged from the bathroom. He was clean-shaven, washed and dressed in a clean set of clothes. He had found them in a duffel bag by the table and guessed that Castiel had left them there for him. He felt infinitely better than he had before the shower but he was still not well. The weariness he felt was bone-deep, maybe deeper. Purgatory had not done the kind of damage to Dean that Hell had, but he still felt it in his soul.

As Dean approached Castiel his expression was stony, guarded.

"Cas. We gotta talk."

"Yes," Cas responded, "but is it agreeable that we do it over dinner? I have burgers." He held up the takeout bag like a peace offering to Dean, his eyes wider than usual, hopeful. How was it that Cas could still manage to look so innocent after all he'd been through and all he'd done? And how was it that he was here, standing in front of Dean in some random motel, burgers in hand?

Dean couldn't help it. He cracked a small grin. He couldn't remember the last time he smiled and he could feel that in the muscles of his face. But damn did it feel good.


End file.
